


What Happens In Hell House...

by bouncymouse



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29400282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncymouse/pseuds/bouncymouse
Summary: There’s a pull somewhere around her navel. She thinks she’s going to be sick. The world spins and lurches and suddenly—Chintzy blue cups and saucers adorn the walls.Tifa thinks they're crazy. Zack thinks Hell Houses are neat.
Relationships: Zack Fair/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 28
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> STAY AWAY FROM DISCORD, FOLKS. It preys on your multi-shipping brain cells and makes you do silly things...
> 
> Short and sweet for the Zifa/Fack community but posting here 'cause rare pairs don't get enough love and I know the pain of finding no new fic in your ship tag. Happy Valentine's day y'all <3
> 
> Edit: Discord made me write the smut soooo sorry for the rating change?

It began well enough.

The buzz started early, patrons milling around drinking too much of anything they could get their hands on from plastic cups. As the crowd grew, the rumble became a roar that was horribly audible through the walls of the storage room Sam gave them to get ready in. She’d sat cross-legged on the end of a table and tried to focus on her breathing.

He bounded around like a puppy let loose from a leash.

In the end, she’d given up. Trying to find Zen around Zack is like herding cats. Impossible, frustrating, and yet oddly quite enjoyable.

Now, the roar is a cacophony. Tifa pivots. Dodges a ball of fire that scorches her skin and sucks the oxygen out of the surrounding air. She smells the sickly scent of burning hair and decides Zack can pay for the trim she’s surely going to need.

“Are you _crazy?”_ she screeches. “Are _they_ crazy?”

“It’s neat, right?” Zack’s grinning like an idiot, blood trickling down his cheek. His eyes are sparkling and there’s sweat on his skin. It makes his muscles shine and—

_No._ Now is definitely _not_ the time.

“It’s a house!”

“Yeah! A Hell House!” He stumbles and rolls as a metal arm crashes through the air, attempting to make a Zack pancake. He’s still grinning when he leaps to his feet. “I thought these guys couldn’t top Cutty and Sweepy. But they _did!”_

“How are you _enjoying_ this?”

There’s a pull somewhere around her navel. She thinks she’s going to be sick. The world spins and lurches and suddenly—

Chintzy blue cups and saucers adorn the walls. There’s a fire burning merrily in the hearth and mismatched furniture dotted around. She blinks, mouth hanging open. Is she _inside_ the Hell House?

“What the—”

The door opens. Six feet and however many inches of SOLDIER, first-class barrel through and she loses her train of thought as she’s knocked off her feet. They land in a tangle on the patterned rug in front of the fire and suddenly, it’s however many inches of SOLDIER, first-class that is a far more pressing concern.

Zack’s not phased by the fact they’re somehow inside the damn thing. Instead, he rolls his hips and laughs breathlessly when she whimpers.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says. He smells of sweat and blood and _him,_ and the adrenaline crashing around her system does nothing for her decision making. Nothing at all.

He kisses her before she can respond. His lips are rough and warm and hungry, and she curls her fingers through his hair and pulls him closer. Relishes the feel of him against her, the friction between her legs. This isn’t the first time battle-nerves and hormones have gotten the better of them, and she doubts it will be the last.

Usually, they wait until _after_ they’ve won, though.

His hands are already fumbling beneath her skirt. Her mind goes blissfully blank.

_Oh well,_ she thinks. _What happens in Hell House..._


	2. Chapter 2

She’s dimly aware that there are many, many people waiting on the outside of the Hell House. This isn’t the time or place, but honestly—and quite unlike her, let’s be frank—she doesn’t _care._

Tifa doesn’t care because what started as an adrenaline-filled trip to first base has quickly escalated. Straight past second, briefly into third and oh _Shiva_ he’s fumbling for his zip and her vest’s hitched up around her shoulders… There’s a searing heat on her skin and she doesn’t know if it’s the fire, or the roar of the crowd _(the crowd!)_ outside or maybe it’s just him but—

_Holy shit._

He pushes into her. He knows what the adrenaline rush from the fray does, knows she’s hot and wet and ready… Inches in because when the chips are down, and she’s clutching at his dark hair and dragging him closer, he knows he _has_ her… Likes to imagine that he’s _winning._

He’s like a teenage boy all over again, grinning as his fingers draw torturous circles along her rib-cage. Leaning against her thigh, which he somehow has pressed against his shoulder. All she can do is touch herself, press her hands to her breasts and pinch at her nipples. Give herself _some_ of the satisfaction he’s denying her as he inches— _inches_ —into her. She swears she can feel every vein, every ridge of his cock and it doesn’t matter how much she writhes, she begs, she clutches at his hair… He won’t move. And he’s _grinning_ , grinning that sunny, pearly-white grin of his, warmer than the sun and more annoying right now than anything on the goddamn planet and—

 _“Zack!”_ His name’s a breathless plea. _“Please.”_

“I know, I know…” 

He grins, and the absolute bastard presses into her a little further… another half an inch, and now she’s desperate. She _aches_ , and he’s grinning and he’s beautiful, and she doesn’t care about the crowd outside or the stupid Hell House… She doesn’t care about anything but the fact her body craves him, cries out for his touch, needs to clench around him and find the crescendo she craves and—

He rolls his hips. Drives into her at an angle that seems to strike every single bell in the goddamn orchestra and she’s singing, sighing as he pulls out—still grinning, the absolute _idiot_ —and slams back into her. She doesn’t care that she’s sweaty, that _he’s_ sweaty, that’s he’s _bleeding…_

She curls her fingers through his hair, drags him closer. Ignores the pull in the thigh that lies against his shoulder to snag his bottom lip in her teeth (she knows it drives him wild, and it does, just like a switch). And he’s moving, thrusting, chanting that she’s perfect, she’s beautiful, she’s everything he needs…

She reaches down between her legs. Finds a rhythm that matches his desperate tempo. Rolls her fingers across her clit and focuses on the friction, his scent in the air, the weight of him against her.

She hits the peak hard, cresting the wave and crashing back down, her body limp and trembling around him as she falls apart, fingers still clutching desperately at his hair. He slows. Sets a gentler pace. Rides it with her, feels the greedy clench of her muscles as she whimpers and keens… waits until she’s stopped writhing, spent and boneless, welcoming his release…

It never comes. She feels the familiar tug behind her navel and she’s thrown headfirst back into the arena, grinning, sweating and utterly sated.

Zack adjusts himself with a forlorn expression. _Serves him right_ , she thinks, limbs still shaking from her own climax. She grins. Blows him a kiss. Rolls to avoid a mechanical arm that crashes through the air and threatens to knock her off her feet.

Maybe— _maybe_ —if they survive this, she’ll repay the favour.

Maybe not.


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t deny that was pretty cool,” he says a little shakily. The adrenaline that’s rushing around his system is roaring in his ears and his body’s hurting. “It’s been years since anything down here’s really made me have to _think_ , you know?”

He pretends it’s easy, being Zack, but it isn’t. It isn’t easy to have the skill-set he has, the training, the limitless energy. It’s loud— _so loud_ —and it hardly ever stops. They bred a super-soldier and left him in the sandbox and if he didn’t chase highs like this, the noise would surely drive him insane.

Adrenaline isn’t the only high he chases. Another sits on the other side of the dingy storage room, unwrapping her fists with worry in her ruby eyes and a smear of blood marking her cheek.

“You could’ve died,” Tifa reminds him. 

There’s a first aid kit open on the table between them, empty wrappers supporting her claim. And sure, at first, it wasn’t fun, stumbling dazed and confused from the arena. But the healing items are kicking in now, and they’re bringing with them a different rush.

She already _got_ hers, he made sure of that. Because he saw an opportunity to chase the other high and he took it. She shivered and trembled on his cock and for another tiny, shining moment the noise was quiet again, drowned out by her needy cries. And then the Hell House decided enough was enough and spat them out before he got _his._

“I didn’t though,” he replies, distracted. There’s a ladder running along the back of one of her thigh-highs and her hair’s dishevelled, her skin sweaty. And all he can think about is—

“That thing nearly flattened you.”

“Nah.” He’s still staring at her legs. “I had it all under control.”

_“Sure.”_

She tosses her gloves aside and maybe she’s seen the hungry look in his eyes because she’s slipping off the edge of the table and padding across the room towards him. But then he notices the gauze in her hand and she’s pressing it to his temple and her worried eyes are shimmering.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says, and it’s only half-true. Because there are tears in Tifa’s eyes and they’re because of him, and that’s a fresh wound, one that hurts him deep in the hollow of his chest. “And I wouldn’t pick a fight I couldn’t win. I promise.”

That’s not entirely true either.

“Zack…” She drops the gauze on the table and it’s covered in blood. “I already lost… I _can’t_ lose you too.”

“You _won’t.”_

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I promise.” He takes her hands, guides her onto his lap. She’s so small, he realises, her feet nowhere near touching the floor as her legs dangle over his thighs. He rests his forehead against hers, cups her cheeks in his palms. “I’m in it for the long haul. You’re stuck with me now.”

Was that a smile? She kisses him and her lips are soft and warm. There’s salt on her skin and he can’t help himself, his tongue sliding along the seam of her lips, and then his fingers tangle in her hair.

“ _Good,_ ” she murmurs against his mouth and her arms wrap so tightly around his neck he can hardly breathe. “You’re stuck with me too.”

“That works out well, then.”

“Hmm…”

His lips are on her throat now, and she shifts her weight slightly. He feels the sigh that escapes her lips vibrate against his mouth. Adrenaline and hormones are a terrible combination, he knows. So he drops his hands to her waist and digs his fingers into her ass beneath her skirt. Drags her against the tent in his trousers.

Her eyes widen, no longer brimming with sadness but still liquid when they meet his. Her lips part and he catches her mouth before the sound can escape. Slides his tongue past her teeth and kisses her so hard he thinks his entire body might just combust with the heat of it.

She’s fumbling for his belt now. There’s a torturous moment of cold air against hot skin when she frees him, her fingers smooth and warm, and she slides her hand up and down his length.

This isn’t what he needs, though. He _needs_ —

His cry is animalistic when she sinks onto him. This slick heat is far more preferable to the chilly air, and he can feel the friction of her panties where she’s pushed them aside in her haste to have him inside her. She rolls her hips experimentally, trying to find purchase, and he feels her thighs tense from the exertion.

“Tifa…”

Slow at first. She sets a pace that’s gentle, her arms tight around his neck again, and she kisses him. It’s not frantic, even though they’re in Sam’s storage room and he’s sure to come knocking, eventually. She’s pressed against Zack’s chest so closely he’s sure he can feel her heart beating against his own.

The noise quiets as he loses himself in the sweet heat of her, the steady _thud_ against his chest, the way the muscles in her legs move as she rides him. And it’s silent now. So silent he can hear the soft sounds she makes as she kisses him, the urgent cries that die in her throat.

He skims his palms across her rib-cage. Presses his fingertips below her vest and sports bra and frees her breasts. They’re heavy in his hands. Warm. When he plants his mouth around one nipple, she gasps. He suckles greedily as his fingers pinch the other and she bucks her hips, her core clenching around him.

He drags his fingers along her breast. Sucks on the pads without taking his tongue away from her nipple and it’s messy, her skin slick against his chin. When he drops his wet fingers to the apex of her thighs, she cries out again and he swears it resonates through him, from the tip of his ears to the end of his cock and she’s moving faster now, her ass slapping against his legs and her breasts bouncing against his face as he moves to the other nipple. Takes the puckered bud between his teeth and sucks it, hard.

“ _Ah… Zack…_ ”

She’s getting close. He knows her body well enough by now and his fingers already have her rhythm, firm and slow against her clit. She ripples and tenses around him, and he can feel himself sprinting towards his own release. It takes every shred of self-control he has to not give in. He wants to feel her fall apart. He _needs_ to—

She comes, her core greedy as it pulses and drags at him, her thighs trembling against his own. And he holds off for another couple of seconds, focusing on the tremors he can feel as she rides out the wave, the pulse that flutters in her throat as she tips her head back, her whimpers and moans and then—

“I love you,” she chants, and her mouth’s on him again.

He loses himself in the heat of her kiss, the heat of her body, her orgasm still rippling through them both and then he’s coming too, buried inside of her, unable to process anything apart from her lips on his, her fingers in his hair, the white heat of his release as it slowly ebbs away…

The _knocking._

“You kids nearly done in there?” Sam asks. “Only they’re wanting to take your picture.”

She’s laughing against his mouth. “Almost.”

“Give us ten minutes,” Zack shouts, and his fingers dig into her hips before she can move, pinning her to him. “Maybe twenty.”

Because he loves her too, and he’s going to make sure she knows it.


End file.
